


Butterflies In My Stomach and Worms In My Intestines

by shitstuck



Series: BIMSaWIMI [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Albino Dave, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Child Abuse, Chronic Illness, Dirk and Bro are the same person, Hospitals, Humanstuck, Illustrated, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Karkat Swearing, Latino Character, Latinx Karkat, Minor Surgery, Multi, Non-Binary Karkat, Non-binary character, Non-fatal illness, Other, Prescription Medication, Spanish, Swearing, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, bro doesn't realize he's being abusive i guess, dave is sick, his illness involves a lot of excrement, it isn't abused don't worry, low-key suicidal ideation, semi-graphic depictions of illness, tags will be updated as I go, the other alphas are separate from their beta counterparts, trans Jade, trans nepeta, ugh i guess, ulcerative colitis, vriska and terezi are bffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitstuck/pseuds/shitstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dave Strider moves from Texas to cold, rainy Washington, he isn't that bothered. He had some people he wanted to leave behind at his old middle school anyway. And it's a pleasant surprise when he discovers that the friends he's made over Pesterchum turn out to go to the same new high school as him. There's even a stranger in a loose sweater and skater skirt shouting about social justice who turns his head. But Dave's been hiding something from his friends: he has ulcerative colitis, which means "painful inflamed large intestine" and is about as fun as it sounds. And it is a lot harder to be cool when your own body won't work right.</p><p>I'm not going to be super graphic in my descriptions of Dave's illness, but a warning before you open this: colitis involves being physically sick, and not of the "throwing up" brand. So again, I won't be getting too graphic, but it's going to be present and some element of detail is unavoidable.</p><p>CURRENTLY ON INDEFINITE HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter really functions as more of a prologue than anything else and just explains what leads up to the greater context of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I should up the rating or if there's something additional you think I should tag, please let me know and I'll be happy to make that change! And I know this chapter's pretty short, but the next one is much longer.
> 
> Edit: I've changed a couple names of minor characters, but no significant changes have been made.

 

It started when you were in eighth grade.

Your friends had begun dropping from you like flies. Connor had made other friends and moved on, Samantha had ditched you all, you’d been distant with Siena for ages, and things with Alex were… well, tense.

Okay, so you’d had a stupid schoolboy crush on him the previous year and he’d found out and it had just generally been awkward and terrible.

But whatever. It was fine. You could have handled that. You’d be going to high school the next year, and at least three other middle schools merged with it, so it wouldn’t be too hard to find a new niche.

Except that one day you’d woken up with an ache in your abdomen like a giant worm was twisting in your insides, cold and slimy and heavy. And that was about when the diarrhea had started.

You didn’t tell Bro at first. He would have told you to suck it up and wait it out, so you figured you could do just that without his impassive condescension. Except it was still going on a month later.

You told him then, and he called the doctor. And that was when the tests started.

First, it was just a stool sample and a urine sample. Then another three stool samples. They X-rayed your intestines and found a big chunk of shit in there (ew) so you had a flush-out. But it didn’t work. A blood sample (the worst one in your opinion, though you’d never let Bro know that you were terrified of needles). And when all of the tests kept coming back negative, they finally gave you your first colonoscopy.

It wasn’t fun. You went into the hospital the day before your birthday. You had another flush-out, only this one was ten times worse. Instead of drinking a gallon of laxative-spiked Gatorade in two hours, you were supposed to drink what tasted like a gallon of laxative-spiked salt water in two hours. You could barely get the stuff down, so they shoved a tube down your nose and through your stomach to pump the stuff in that way. (You’ve pretty successfully blocked out the memory of them shoving a tube down your throat.) They gave you a room and an IV.

(You had a panic attack when they tried to put the IV in the first time and they stuck you five times before they gave you calming drugs and tried a more efficient method.)

They told you you’d be done when your shit was clear.

Bro had laughed at that. What the hell was clear shit supposed to look like?

He wasn’t laughing seven hours later when you’d shit the bed with mostly liquid and he had to help you into a clean gown and underpants.

They had to add a second pump because your shit wasn’t clear enough and it was already one AM.

They said you were done a couple hours later and stopped the pump and you cried from relief. But you weren’t done pooping, because you’d just taken in god knows how much laxative.

You didn’t sleep well that night, between getting up to shit every ten minutes and the feeling of the tube in your nose and in the back of your throat.

The next day was your colonoscopy, which involved you getting knocked out (you remember being exhausted and the operating staff telling you to roll onto your side) and sleeping through them sticking a little camera up your butt and taking pictures of your intestines.

Happy birthday to you.

(The next day was your eighth grade graduation and you were almost late because they kept you overnight and Bro almost couldn’t wake you up.)

Fortunately, they actually figured out what was wrong. You had ulcerative colitis, which basically translates to “painful inflamed large intestine.” Fun. But they got you on some drugs and you actually felt okay for most of that summer.

Except then you moved out of Houston and to Asscrack Nowhere, Washington.

It wasn’t the end of the world. You certainly weren’t upset to leave your old school. There were way too many people there you never wanted to see again. But you missed the sticky-hot summers; how disgustingly hot it got and how positively awful it was to train in that weather (though of course you did anyway).

And, of course, you were the reason for the move.

Bro tried to hide it, but you could tell that your drugs were costing more than he could afford with just his deejaying gigs. He’d looked online and started some weird puppet porn thing, and apparently he’d decided it’d be easier to make money off of that from a shitty apartment in Maple Valley than a slightly less shitty apartment in Houston. Emphasis on the slightly. The elevator there actually worked every once in a while, if it wasn’t too hot out and it hadn’t been in a week.

All this left you sick, poor-ish, and alone in a new place. But you were fine.

It was your first day of school now, and you were fine. How could you not be? You were cool. Everybody loved a cool kid.

You’d be fine.

You just had to… get out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you think I should up the rating or tag something else, please let me know! Don't be afraid to notify me of typos or spelling/grammatical errors and I would *love* to just know how you feel about this! Even if it isn't necessarily positive, I'd love to know (just please don't be rude).
> 
> Forgot to mention this earlier: I've changed Dave's birthday to May 21st. It's mostly for the sake of making him extra miserable, but the situation he was in in middle school reflects a situation I was in a few years ago and having all of that happen *on my birthday* really just added to the misery, so the change in birthdate lets this premise mirror my life a little more and just makes him suffer. I'm a cruel author, I know. >:]


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's first day of school, where he encounters some surprisingly familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for swearing and mild homophobia and transphobia. Also, I'm not a native Spanish speaker, so don't hesitate to let me know if there's something wrong with my Spanish. Hope you enjoy!

  
“You sure you’re all right, li’l man? Sure you’re… feeling all right?”

Bro had never really gotten less awkward about talking about your sickness. Neither had you, of course, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. As a kid, you’d always been discouraged from expressing that you were in pain, but when you got sick, all everybody wanted to hear about was your pain. Suddenly, you were the expert in something you had no vocabulary for. Pain was no longer a sign of weakness but an important marker of something worse.

But you pause a moment and check, and you aren’t actually sick, just nervous.

“Nah. I’m cool. Cooler than a cucumber wearing shades under an umbrella on the beach. He’s surrounded by babes ‘cuz he’s just that cool. They—”

Bro cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I get it. You’re cool. Now get the hell out of my car and don’t be late on your first day of high school.”

Right. That too.

You want to stay in the car and drive all the way back to Texas. Not to go back to school, but to go back to _your_ apartment instead of this new one that smells different and isn’t messy enough yet, back to that park with the one broken swing that nobody’d ever fix and you liked it that way.

You also don’t want to go to high school. Elementary school was the bomb-dot-com, when teachers indulged your ridiculous anime shades (even though you kept getting in trouble for swearing and fighting), but middle school was a whole step up of ugly. It was like the intermediate level on some video game, except it was radically different from the beginner level and instead of being consistent it just kept getting harder and harder, with crazier obstacles constantly being thrown at you until you aren’t even trying to collect all the little bonuses anymore, you’re just trying to make it through the level without losing all your health. Except your health is like a tire with a slow leak that keeps getting worse and the driver doesn’t know and he just keeps driving and the whole car is wobbling now and it’s about to crash.

And high school is the Expert level. And your car is already down a whole tire.

You’re confusing even yourself now, so you finally get out of the damn car and start scoping out the scene.

Most people seem to either loiter elsewhere or show up just before class, since there’s only a few small handfuls of people standing outside in clusters. You decide to watch a few more people show up before you really make any sort of decision and lean against an extremely convenient pole next to where you were standing.

Nobody makes any sort of effort to even try the door handle, but it isn’t long before the slow trickle of people arriving speeds up. Groups become readily apparent and if you’re going to do anything to distinguish yourself, you should pretty much do it now.

You stay far away from a small but boisterous cluster of upperclassmen. There’s a few groups of boys your age, but one of the larger ones is talking loudly about sports and the others just look like tools. You’re resigning yourself to finding a group some other time when you see a familiar flash of buck teeth.

_That couldn’t possibly be…_

Except it could be. You’ve made some Internet friends over the years, and until just now you’d forgotten that some of them lived in Washington. You hadn’t even told them you were moving.

“John?” you call, hoping there aren’t seventeen other Johns and hoping you’re right.

His shaggy black hair swishes as he turns towards you, and it’s definitely him. You’d sent each other pictures before, him sending quick snapshots from his webcam and you sending a few of your choice selfies.

“Huh?”

He hasn’t seen you. “John.”

Finally he whirls around and sees you.

“Oh my god! Dave, is that you?”

You nod, ‘cause you’re cool like that. “In the flesh.”

“Wow, what are you doing here? Don’t you kinda live in Texas?”

“Moved. Apparently Bro decided he can run that new puppet porn deal of his better from here than Texas.”

“So you go here now? That’s so cool! Rose and Jade are gonna be so excited! Come on!” He grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd to a bench on the fringes.

A tall girl with long dreads is talking animatedly to a girl with short blonde hair and black lipstick making her look even paler.

“Rose! Jade! You’re never gonna believe who I found!”

“Let me guess: a fellow Nic Cage enthusiast.”

“Someone who shares your terrible taste in movies!”

“John, you realize it is unacceptable to create false humans out of clay; correct?”

“Someone who can stand your stink!”

“No—shut up, Jade! I knew you’d never guess. It’s Dave!”

Rose actually looks up at this and sees you.

“I thought you were in Texas.” Surprise is evident in her voice.

“Moved.”

“Without telling us?” Jade interjects. “Rude!” She sticks her tongue out at you and you tug on one of her dreads.

“I forgot, okay? I was a little busy, you know, moving.”

“I do find it a bit odd that you couldn’t even mention it in passing. Was it a surprise to you or something?”

“I just didn’t really feel like talking about it. I didn’t exactly think I’d just happen to move to the same town as all of you.” You’re beginning to get a little worked up. Jeez, so you didn’t mention that you were moving. So what? Maybe you just have things you don’t tell them.

For instance. They don’t know you’re sick. And they don’t need to.

You don’t really want this to get any more heated than it already is and you’re searching for any excuse to change the subject when you see them.

“… and look, I just think this school really needs to have more fucking gender-neutral bathrooms. Is it so fucking weird that I want to be able to take a piss on all three floors? I can’t exactly use the men’s—you remember what happened last time. Little _brujas_. And there’s always a line in the ladies’ and I don’t want to use the fucking girls’ bathroom anyway, is that such a goddamn problem?”

They don’t stop. You hear the voice, with a slight Mexican accent (something you’re very familiar with, being from Texas, which is _right fucking next to Mexico_ ) and after some searching you match it to a really short Latinx kid in a big maroon sweater and a skater skirt gesticulating wildly towards a ginger chick in weird red glasses and a tall guy with acne who looks like he’s heard this a million times before. A tall, disinterested-looking girl with a grown out dye job stands nearby.

At your old school, they would have been beat up already. And it seems like they have been before, but by some miracle, nobody seems to care today. Old news, maybe.

“Hey, John, who’s that?” You point towards them, hoping your shift in conversation is acceptable.

He sees who you’re looking at and frowns a little. “That’s Karkat. He’s kind of a weirdo. He always wears skirts and keeps yelling about stuff like that. He and all his friends are kinda weird, actually. Like that big girl with the blue hair? She once got caught kissing that goth Muslim girl. But look, if he’s bothering you, don’t worry. He usually shuts up after a while.”

Not exactly the answer you were hoping for, but you aren’t surprised. John means well, and he’s your friend, but he can be a little homophobic sometimes.

You doubt that Karkat actually uses male pronouns. It’s possible, of course; you’re no expert, but it doesn’t seem likely to you. You can’t even go up to them and ask if their name is Karkat because it could be their dead name and you do not want to bring that up. You’ll ask Rose or Jade about it later.

“Anyway, the bell’s about to ring, so you probably need to stop in the office and get your schedule and stuff, right?”

“Yeah… yeah.” Right. There’s a loud sort of beep instead of anything resembling a bell, but that must be it because the doors open and the people flood inside. You manage to make it to the office with minimal injury and grab your schedule and a map. Your locker’s on the first floor, at least, and you’re actually on time to class.

You aren’t by any means early, however, and you have to hand the teacher your note in front of everyone. But it’s better than getting yelled at for wearing shades in class or having to take them off and get a migraine. Or having an emergency and the teacher yelling at you for running out in the middle of class. He pats you on the shoulder in what must seem like a fatherly way to him and you drop your stuff in a desk in the back. You’re next to the redhead who was talking to Karkat earlier.

“Hey, new kid.” Her voice is loud and nasally and she grins with all her teeth.

“Name’s Dave.”

“Terezi. Are those sunglasses? Inside? You really are a coolkid.”

“Yeah, did you not see them before or something?”

She leans over and whacks you with some kind of cane. _Shit._ You hadn’t noticed that.

“I’m _blind_ , you fucker!” But she doesn’t really seem mad, since she’s cackling wildly.

Class starts and you actually feel moderately okay for the whole time. Terezi is a surprisingly sassy motherfucker, constantly whispering joking insults in your ear and completely roasting your teacher when he makes a really obvious mistake. Not that anything too serious actually gets said. It's the first day, after all.

It’s mostly the same deal in all your other classes. John has Advanced Biology at the same time you do but in the classroom next door. Your lab partner is a curvy Japanese girl named Aradia who shares your fascination with dead things.

Karkat is in your history class, and you find out that their name is Karkat and the guy with braces is one of their best friends, since they pass notes all class and somehow convince the teacher to seat them next to each other. You left the note in your last class and the teacher refuses to believe you and makes you take your shades off. You spend the class with your eyes shut and your head down on the desk so you don't have to spend the rest of your first day of high school with a migraine.

You can _feel_ everyone's eyes on you the whole time.

Your next class is art, and the teacher is this slightly spacey woman who actually appreciates your sarcastic remarks because they help her stay on topic. She seats you next to her desk and doesn't even comment on your shades.

Gym is annoying and a little strange, since you spot not only the small girl next to you from art (she introduced herself cheerily as Nepeta) but also Jade in the boys’ locker room. Jade explains that the school is really transphobic and won't allow transgender students to use a bathroom besides the one matching their genitals until they have transitional surgery. But she changes in a corner and nobody bothers her with you there and the girl from your art class has a really beefy friend that glares at anyone who so much as glances her way. The teacher is this sixty-year-old bald guy who obviously hasn't stepped outside since he was in high school, with how sexist and transphobic he is. Fortunately, he accepts your note (which you’d finally retrieved from your history classroom) without complaint.

Your performance is way below your usual standards. Being sick will do that to you. You'll have to convince Bro that you're well enough to start strifing again.

Whether you are or not.

Lunch is fairly uneventful. The food isn't too bad and you sit with John, Rose, and Jade and tell them some things that are different from Texas. You don't mention your sickness or explain why you were weaker in gym. You do tell them about your photosensitivity and why you wear the shades, which John already knew.

Your next class is Geometry, and as much as you hate (and excel at) math, you're _intensely_ glad because you finally have a class with John. Rose is there too, but she spends much of the period starting at an extremely tall (and very pretty) Muslim girl in deep green lipstick that matches her hijab. The girl (Kanaya, as you learn her name is), unfortunately for Rose, spends just as much of the class staring at the girl with the old dye job that is seriously beginning to annoy you. You don't even know this Vriska chick and you sincerely hope she dyes her hair soon.

You almost just go to your next class on autopilot but the class title on the piece of paper makes you pause and frown. Spanish 1? You signed up for Spanish 3, since you already speak Spanish. There’s no harm in an easy A, but this is ridiculous. But the lady in the office is unhelpful and tells you that if you prove yourself proficient you can switch next semester. So you trudge all the way up to the third floor and hand the teacher your note.

“Hola, me llamo Dave Strider, el estudiante nuevo. Tengo una nota sobre mis gafas de sol. Y quiero estar en la clase de español tres, pero la mujer en la oficina dijo que no puedo cambiar mi horaria hasta que el próximo semestre.” _Hi, my name is Dave Strider, the new student. I have a note about my sunglasses. And I want to be in Spanish 3, but the woman in the office said I can't change my schedule until next semester._

The teacher blinks and nods. “Right, well… until then I'll expect you to keep up with the rest of the class and pay attention.”

You nod. She wasn't expecting you to speak Spanish. Maybe she didn't even fully understand you at that speed. “Sí, señora.” You take a seat in the back and fight the urge to scream. You'll have plenty of time to doodle, at least. You take out your new sketchbook, courtesy of this school's apparently loaded at department. It's nice, too.

The class starts but you scarcely look up from a caricature of the teacher.

“And you? Name, grade, and one fun thing to did over the summer?”

You sigh. “Me llamo Dave, estoy en el grado noveno, y me mudé aqui durante las vacaciones.”

The teacher blinks uncertainly. “Why don’t you repeat that in English, Dave?”

“Lo siento—uh, sorry. I'm Dave, I'm a freshman, and over the summer I moved here.” It's hard to turn off your Spanish brain sometimes, especially in a room full of posters with Spanish words on them.

A new, slightly familiar voice interjects. “¿Por qué no puede hablar español? Esta es la clase de español, ¿verdad? ¿No deberíamos hablar el idioma de la clase?” _Why can't he speak Spanish? This is Spanish class, right? Shouldn't we speak the language of the class?_

It's Karkat, for sure. Every word is biting and sharp, in that loud, slightly hoarse voice of theirs. They're standing now, a few seats in front of you in the same row and they're wearing an enormous maroon sweater tucked into a black skater skirt and leggings. The strap of a black tank top is visible on their bulky shoulder and they've got one hand on their hip and you don't think you've ever wanted to kiss another human being more.

“This is the introductory Spanish course.” The teacher is getting annoyed and she means business now. “Students are here to learn the language, with no prior knowledge of Spanish necessary. Please speak English so your fellow students can understand you.”

Karkat huffs and sits down, but when it's their turn they introduce themself in English.

“Karkat. Freshman. Visited _mi abuelo_ in Mexico.” Only they don't say it the Americanized way, they say it the way people from there say it. _México_ , with that sound the English language doesn't have in place of the dumb “x” sound. And their accent is particularly strong, maybe because they're upset or maybe just because they were just speaking Spanish; and they're practically spitting out every word.

The teacher starts class with a game and at one point, she leads you all in a song. You try (and fail) not to stare at Karkat in lieu of participating while he seems to fume silently the whole class.

Your last class of the day is English, which is gonna be a rough transition for your language brain. You’re about to take a seat in the back as usual when an oversized sweater catches your eye and they wave you over.

Your breath catches in your throat and you almost trip on someone's backpack in the aisle as you make your way over to the desk next to them. Smooth, Dave. Smooth.

“Sup,” you say by way of greeting, trying not to let your voice crack.

“You're the kid from that nightmare of a Spanish class, right?”

“The one and only. Dave Strider, live and in person.”

They start talking again before you can really get going, which you silently thank whatever’s out there for. “Where'd you learn Spanish and what the fuck were you doing in an introductory Spanish course?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You smirk at them but continue. “I’m from Texas. My parents spoke mostly Spanish in the house but the reason I don't have a Spanish accent is because they died when I was four and my Bro did the rest of the raising. He made sure I never forgot any Spanish, I think to remember them by. He knew them longer than I did so he'd have known what they would have wanted. What about you, what's your sob story?” You finish with a wry half-smile so they don't take you too seriously.

They seem shocked and there's a softness in their eyes that you recognize as pity.

The teacher starts talking so they pull out a piece of paper and write furiously with a gray pen. Then they slide the paper towards you.

NOT REALLY MUCH IN THE WAY OF A SOB STORY. MY ABUELO WANTED MY PARENTS TO GET OUT OF MEXICO SO HE BOUGHT US PLANE TICKETS TO HERE WITH A NEST EGG NONE OF US KNEW HE'D BEEN SITTING ON. NO IDEA WHY HE PICKED HERE, BUT WE'RE ALL CITIZENS AND EVERYTHING. WE'VE BEEN HERE SINCE I WAS IN SIXTH GRADE AND I DIDN'T REALLY HAVE ANY PROBLEMS LEARNING ENGLISH. 

They weren't lying. That is a surprisingly un-sob-worthy story. You take out the first writing utensil you touch—a red colored pencil—and scribble a reply.

wow you werent kidding i did not shed a single tear reading that. clearly i am superior with my tragic backstory and stunning physique. 

They read your note and snort loudly.

“Something funny, Mr. Vantas?” The teacher actually stops what he is doing to yell at them. High school cliches everywhere.

They frown at the male title. “No, sir.”

“Then I’ll thank you to please pay attention in my class.”

“Yes, sir.”

You take the paper back.

nothin like some good old fashioned sucking up to get back on a teachers good side 

“Shut up,” they whisper, but they're terrible at whispering and you can see the brief flash of a real smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, don't hesitate to notify me of typos or errors and please tell me what you think! Here's hoping I got the formatting right from mobile, haha.
> 
> Edit 11/21/16: Just changed a little language to be more specific. No biggie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's second day of school, pretty much. TW for mild transphobia, mild ableism (basically just Dave being stupid about Terezi and his history teacher is still a dick) and of course swearing. There's one or two homophobic slurs in there too. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a returning reader, I added some cover art to the first chapter, if you wanna check it out!
> 
> Edit: I also changed the names of some characters from before Dave came to Washington, but nothing significant.

When you get home, you leave all eight syllabuses (syllabi?) from every class on the kitchen counter for Bro to sign and hole up in your room, killing time on the computer until he hollers that dinner’s ready. It’s spaghetti and meatballs, which is a far cry from what you would have eaten a year ago. But subsisting on almost entirely pizza and ramen isn’t an option when you’d be sick even on a healthy diet. You’d whined some about the sudden upheaval of your diet, but when it had started to help, you’d eaten your vegetables without complaint.

For dessert, you take ten milligrams of Prednisone with apple juice. It's a steroid to control your flare-up, which is what the doctors call it when you get sick and it's your intestines’ fault.

But you’re cool. You’re still mostly healthy and your guts feel almost normal again.

You slink back to your room and chat with John for a while.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 19:23 --

EB: so how was your first day?  
TG: pretty chill  
TG: pissed off my spanish teacher so that was fun  
EB: what?? what happened?  
TG: somehow i ended up in spanish 1 instead of spanish 3 like i signed up for so when i started speaking actual spanish the teacher freaked  
TG: im kinda surprised she didn't give me detention or whatever  
EB: did she like understand you?  
TG: i honestly don't know  
TG: so how was your day  
EB: it was fine! that weird guy karkat was in like half my classes and he kept yelling at the teachers about some thing or another but my biology teacher is really cool  
TG: bro karkats not a guy  
EB: hes a she?  
TG: no dude im pretty sure theyre non binary  
EB: whats that supposed to mean?  
TG: you know what ill tell you some other time  


You don't really feel like explaining the concept of gender outside of a binary right now. How John's actually survived this long in the modern world is beyond you.

TG: just like dont call them he or she just use they  
EB: man thats gonna be weird! but okay, if itll bother you :B  
TG: thanks bro  


There's a lull in the conversation, but you don't blame him. He's not exactly well-versed in the matter of gender.

Neither of you manage to resurrect the conversation from its pronoun grave, so you close the conversation and are about to sign off when you notice a chat notification from Rose.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:08 --

TT: Dave.  
TT: I find it difficult to believe that you would just “forget” to mention that you were moving across the country.  
TG: oh come on rose drop it  
TG: i had a lot going on  
TT: That reminds me of something, actually. How did it go with Alex?  
TG: well i moved across the country without significant complaining if that tells you anything  
TG: plus shit kinda hit the fan with siena and we had this giant fight  
TG: bitch called me a fag so i told her to go whore herself off somewhere else and she hit me and ran like hell when bro showed up like three seconds later  
TG: it was goddamn hilarious  
TG: and plus that was when  
TT: When what?  


You'd almost started to tell her that all of this had gone down when you were getting sicker and sicker and had ended up in the hospital once or twice. Keeping in touch with friends across the country was a little harder when you had your own very real drama and your body was failing you.

TG: nothing  
TT: What was going on, Dave?  
TG: nothing rose just drop it  
TT: No, I don't think I will.  
TT: It was obviously important enough to distract you from us, who you'd talked to nearly every day in the past.  
TT: You didn't even stop talking to us, you just didn't tell us anything about what was going on. I didn't even notice at first.  
TG: nothings wrong rose just leave it  
TG: i see you typing just drop it  
TT: Very well. I can see that you aren't going to budge. Just…  
TT: Just keep in mind that we're here for you, Dave.  


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 20:21 --

You unclench your fist and loosen your jaw. They don't need to know. It's over now, anyway. You're pretty much healthy now, and the only real difference is a couple pills in the morning and a few at night. Nothing to worry about.

You groan and turn off your computer, but your fingers are tingling and you need to do something. You grab your camera bag and scribble a note to Bro on the pad of sticky notes on the counter.

bro—

got bored, went out. back by 9:30

—dave

You haven't given yourself much time, but the lighting is really nice right now and you want a couple shots from the roof. So you climb up the outdoor fire escape instead of the stairs inside the building. On the way up, you get a couple nice shots of cars on the road and crows on a telephone wire. When you get to the roof, the moon is full and gorgeous and the stars are beginning to peek out. You don't take as many pictures as you were expecting to, instead electing to just lie there and listen to the town.

You're in the downtown area, but it's still not half as loud as Houston was when you'd do this there. You can hear the sounds of cars and air conditioning, but there's more room for animal noises and the occasional hoot. There are trees along the sidewalk and there's a park in easy walking distance and you lie there and listen for longer than you intended.

You must have dozed off, because you wake up to a smuppet in your face.

“Jesus, Bro!”

He materializes a few feet away and shrugs.

“It's ten thirty, li’l man. Come on.”

You grumble and get up, and he's already lounging on the couch watching TV when you walk in the door.

You go to your room and plug your camera into your computer so you can look at your recent shots on a better screen. There's one or two blurry ones, but all the ones you really liked turned out okay.

Nice.

When you finally go to bed after killing time on the internet for a few more hours (only when Bro sticks his head in and says the word “sleep” do you shut off your computer), your dreams are full of shiny black wings and maroon sweaters.

The next morning, Rose stares at you accusingly the entire time you're within her line of sight and you completely ignore her for exactly that long. You don't _need_ to tell them. It's over now.

Probably.

Rose’s eyes are sharper than her wit and you know that either could rival Bro’s best katana, so if you’re honest with yourself you know she’ll probably figure it out sooner or later. But you kind of hate being honest with yourself sometimes, so for now you just pretend nothing’s wrong and never was.

In Health with Terezi, the teacher introduces the topic of fitness and you scoff when he asks you to write down the hours of physical activity you get in a week. Except that when you think about it, it’s been a lot less lately. You’ll have to fix that. You write down your usual number and decide that you’ll just have to turn it into the truth.

(Terezi’s handwriting is terrible when you peek over her shoulder. You wonder why at first and then nearly slam your head into your desk when you remember that she’s blind.)

Aradia tells you stories under her breath about finding fossils in an old burial ground not far from her house. You are extremely jealous and try not to show it, but your cover is pretty much blown when you accidentally say “No way!” out loud and not only does your voice crack, the teacher hears and asks you what is so surprising about microorganisms.

“I-I just thought that, you know, the whole thing with the… cilia was cool. It’s like prehensile hair or something. Yeah.”

Aradia’s totally laughing at you. You kick her halfheartedly under the table.

You show the history teacher Bro’s note this time but she refuses to allow you to wear the shades, going so far as to confiscate them until the end of class.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need a doctor’s note to allow something like this.” Great. You haven’t met your new doctor yet. You’ve got an appointment in a week and you actually don’t think you’ll survive. She won’t even believe you when you show her the mutated scarlet of your eyes.

She also lays down a strict new seating chart that places Karkat across the room from their friend Sollux (but diagonal back from you in your new seat in the front row, where it’s brightest) and even misgenders them, refusing to use neutral pronouns. They grit their teeth but stick it out and you spend another class period trying to complete the notes without getting a headache. You finish the notes, but your head pounds when class is over.

During art, Nepeta frowns tragically when you wince at her gentle pat on your shoulder and apologizes, looking like a kicked puppy. The teacher spends too long talking and you keep your head on your desk until she says you can go to the computer lab to pick out a photo as a reference for your first project (you’ll be using a tiny knife to scrape the top layer of black off of a shiny piece of board). You ask if you can use one of your own photos and actually smile a bit when her delight is apparent.

Your head feels loads better by the time you get to gym, thank God. Nepeta walks with you since you’re going to the same place and her big friend (Equius, he introduces himself as) shakes your hand with a very sweaty palm and a very firm grip. Later, when your class is in the weight room, he benches what must be almost twice his weight, whereas you only got up to two-thirds of what you can usually manage. Positively embarrassing. And your endurance is shot from two months of inactivity and weakness.

“Jeez, Dave, you sure talked big online but your arms are shaking already! Sure you can handle that much weight?” Jade says, her voice mostly teasing with an underlying hint of concern. You’re _fine_. Just a little out of shape.

“Shut up, Jade!” you snap harshly, then instantly regret it when she looks hurt. “Sorry, I just… I’m a little out of shape is all.”

You’re breathing hard when class is over and you’re beginning to wonder if it isn’t a bad idea to follow Equius’ lead and take a shower after class.

Rose continues to watch you during lunch, but you’re a little distracted. Where does Karkat sit? They’re nowhere in the cafeteria, but they have to eat somewhere. You don’t see Sollux anywhere, either, so maybe they eat somewhere together.

(You have to use the bathroom after lunch and are nearly late to Geometry, a move surely not missed by Rose.)

Vriska has not yet re-dyed her hair and Kanaya talks to her quietly for the whole class, which finally takes Rose’s eyes off of you for a change. John tells you about his neighborhood, and how you should totally come over to his house now that you’re in the same state and all, and you agree completely. You schedule a movie marathon for that Saturday and he discreetly okays it with his dad right then and there.

You sit by Karkat in Spanish again. The rest of the class is learning the alphabet, so you whisper to them in Spanish. The teacher looks at the two of you disapprovingly, but can't say anything since you're both speaking Spanish. They tell you about their _abuelo_ , how he's a Catholic preacher in Mexico (your heart skips a beat when they say it again, _México_ ), and he's not poor, but he lives in a bad area because the people need him more there. You tell them about strifing with Bro and they look shocked when you say you use real swords.

“¿Cómo no estás muerto todavia?” they mutter. _How are you not dead yet?_

“Es el carisma de los Striders.” _It's the Strider charm_. You wink at them and wonder if they can tell under your shades. Maybe not.

They’re wearing dark red lipstick today, and a gray sweater so long it functions as a dress with leggings. You want to touch the sweater and see if it's as soft as it looks, want to run your fingers along the squareness of their jaw—

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are _extremely_ attracted to Karkat Vantas.

The thought makes your chest seize up and when the bell rings a moment later, you waste no time in absconding to the bathroom. You lock yourself in a stall and try not to hyperventilate.

 _Breathe_ , you remind yourself. You use a trick that's always worked for you before, snapping a steady beat and counting out measures in 4/4 time, breathing in for a measure, holding for a measure, breathing out for a measure, and holding for another measure.

It's been two days. Not even. Your feelings for Alex, which had felt like the world at the time, were scarcely a ghost compared to this. _Two fucking days_ and you’re panicking in a bathroom because _dear god do you ever want to touch this person._

Okay. Cool. You’re cool. You can be cool. Just. It’s just another thing you won’t talk about. That’s fine; you have plenty of those. You can do this. You can act natural and it’ll blow over in a few days or weeks and it’ll be fine. People get crushes all the time and they go away all the time too. Just gotta wait it out.

You’re pretty much calm now, but the door to the bathroom swings open and you hear footsteps.

“Strider?” It’s Karkat. They followed you into the bathroom? “Te dejaste tus cosas en la clase. Las tengo aqui.” _You left your things in class. I have them here._

You don’t say anything.

“Dave? ¿Me puedes oír? No quiero quedarme aqui.” _Can you hear me? I don't want to stay here._ They sound annoyed and a little nervous.

You swallow. Best to pretend like nothing's wrong. So you flush the toilet in your stall even though you didn't so much as sit down.

“Un momento, por favor,” you say, ( _one moment, please_ ) and your voice is steady as you walk out and wash your (clean) hands. “Lo siento. Fue una emergencia.” _Sorry. It was an emergency._

“Eso pensé. Aquí están tus cosas.” _I figured. Here's your things._

“Gracias. Uh, probably wanna start thinking in English again, since that's where we're headed.” You have a feeling Mr. Pinch will appreciate your bilinguality approximately as much as Señora Jameson does.

“S-uh, right.” They hand you your backpack, your Spanish folder sticking out of the main pocket.

“So, an emergency? Are you all right?” There’s concern in their voice. Can’t be having that.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just drank a lot of water right before class. No big deal.”

You lapse into silence but walk to your English class together.

Mr. Pinch passes out your copies of Romeo and Juliet. You groan but Karkat seems excited.

I LOVE SHAKESPEARE. they write in their notebook when you tap them on the shoulder with a question on your face. HE WAS SO BRILLIANT AND HIS STUFF IS REALLY CLEVER AND WITTY WHEN YOU READ INTO IT. PLUS THE SHEER QUANTITY OF DICK JOKES IS OVERWHELMING.

lets see how many we can point out without mr pinch noticing

bet i win

YOU'RE ON, FUCKER. I'M THE KING OF SHAKESPEARE.

you fail to consider this: im the king of dick jokes

Mr. Pinch assigns roles. You volunteer for Juliet (for the ironies, of course) and Karkat is assigned Romeo. Figures. You read the first scene out loud, but Juliet doesn't appear until the second scene, so you get to watch Karkat.

They're a good actor, reading Romeo’s lyrical lines like they know them by heart. They don't struggle with pronunciation or stumble over the old language. You can even hear the rhythm of the poetry in their voice, and they sound just as desolate as if they were Romeo themself.

Romeo doesn't have much in the way of dick jokes himself, but the opening dialogue is full of them. You exaggeratedly wink at Karkat whenever one of your classmates unknowingly makes one and mark them all with red pen, and they scowl when you catch one they missed. Mr. Pinch wants you to find metaphors and point out rhyme scheme but you and Karkat are flipping through the first scene for dick jokes and trying to hide your giggles.

You're in a good mood when you get home. Bro could pick you up and drop you off, but his lazy ass only did that for the first day. Your new apartment isn't actually that far from the school, so you just walk home, passing an empty park and like four fast-food restaurants. You make a mental list of all the shitty movies you’re going to bring over to John’s, so the deluge of smuppets that falls on you the instant you open the door doesn’t bother you as much as it normally might. Your hand finds the nearest sword’s hilt and you bust through the pile pretty quickly.

To exactly nobody’s surprise, a note flies out of the pile.

Bro—

It's been too long.

Roof. Now.

—Bro

Honestly, you’re excited. You don’t let it show, obviously, but it’s definitely been way too long since you had an actual proper strife.

The thought gives you pause. When _was_ your last strife with Bro? Not since—well, not since the pair of you had realized that this was more than just a little stomach bug. So, probably since April. Five months.

Jesus, that was a long time.

You shake it off and bound up to the roof, maybe a little bit too happy for the occasion.

A solid hour and a half later, you’re sweaty, bruised, and shaky, but you feel goddamn great. Bro doesn’t get in the shower right away, so you hop in and assess the damage. There’s nothing too major, so you clean off and get out, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. He whupped your ass, of course, but that’s _normal_. And yeah, maybe he’d been planning on going easy on you at first, but he’d gotten into it eventually and you’d gotten served just as much as usual.

You chug a celebratory apple juice and eat three slices of cold pizza in about twelve seconds before it occurs to you that you have to take your pill. You down another apple juice.

Whatever. At least you get apple juice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you notice a mistake or something wrong, don't hesitate to let me know! Correct my grammar, my spelling, my Spanish, point out typos, etc. I don't have a beta reader so I'm just relying on my own knowledge and how much I can notice on my own. And I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and the story. (You have no idea how stupid the face I make when I get comments is. It's hilarious.) Thanks for reading!
> 
> Funny story: I'm typing this story on Google Docs, right? And a lot of the time I'm on mobile. So Google Docs has this feature that lets you scroll through sections in your document easier, and it displays the section headers so you can tell where you are and all. It's nifty. And up until recently, it just used the placeholder "chapter one" headers I have. But when I was typing this chapter, it somehow got the idea that I'd started a new section. The header? "YOU'RE ON, FUCKER. I'M THE KING OF SHAKESPEARE." AKA Google Docs agrees that Karkat would like Shakespeare.
> 
> Update: Look how fancy those pesterlogs are. Who's getting better at this shit? Fuck yeah, it's me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's third day of school, in which his friends get the wrong idea about his home life and he's generally grumpy and snappish. TW for discussions of abuse, mild transphobia, and swearing.

You’re sore as hell when you wake up. Jesus, you haven’t been this sore after a strife in—wow, in years, probably. Stretching helps some, but you have to accept that today just might suck a little bit. You realize that you kind of look like shit when you look in the mirror, so you put on a long-sleeved shirt and hope that gym is easy today. 

Before you’re able to walk out the door, Bro materializes in the kitchen. 

“Doing anything this weekend?” 

That’s right. It’s Friday. Your movie day with John is tomorrow.

“Going to John’s for movies tomorrow. Probably be back late.”

“Stay the night. I’m having someone over.” 

You wince slightly and nod. There has been many a time when you’ve had to be home when Bro “had someone over” and you usually end up blasting the loudest music you can find all night. Sleep is scarce and difficult. 

Maybe you’ll be able to soundproof your room in this apartment.

(Covering the sounds of Bro’s conquests wouldn’t be the only benefit of such an arrangement, actually. You could do some of your own recording.)

John is all kinds of excited when you ask if you can stay the night and assures you that it'll most certainly be okay with his dad. 

“And we're obviously going to be watching the greatest movie of all time, Con Air.”

You groan theatrically. “Was the time we watched it in sync over Skype not enough for you?”

“No! That was terrible! We couldn't get it to line up and anyway, it's not the same!” He's full-on pouting now, and he's just so damn cute that you sigh and relent.

“Fine. Bros watching shitty movies. Let's do this.” 

“It's not shitty!” he exclaims. You tilt your head back and let out a bark of laughter.

“John,” you say, resting your head on the back of the bench you’re sitting on. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, John. That movie isn’t even ‘so bad it’s good.’ It’s just _bad_.” You almost put your hands behind your head and sprawl out properly as he sputters indignantly, but you’re reminded of last night’s intense strife by just how sore you are. Instead, you opt for putting your head across Jade’s lap and your feet in Rose’s. 

Jade immediately digs her elbows into your gut, of course, right where you slammed into the air conditioner vent thingy last night. You don’t know why you’re surprised. You just wish the “oof” that flew out of your mouth was a little less high and pathetic. Rose shoots you a concerned look and you force a chuckle to play it off. 

“Guess I deserved that,” as if it hadn’t really hurt. You put a smirk on your face but Jade’s pointy elbows dig into your side and you want to scream. 

You scan the crowd and lock eyes with Karkat. They’re looking right at you with this concerned expression on their face. 

_You okay?_ they mouth. (You’re not sure how they could tell you were looking at them, since you’ve got your shades on.)

They must have noticed your reaction when Jade first jabbed you. You give them the patented Nod™ and show them a proper Strider smirk. But it twists a little when Jade gives you one final dig and removes her arms. 

You don't sit up until the bell rings. When you do get up, it's slowly, in stops and starts. Jesus, you're sore. But you slowly bring your arms above your head and stretch a little more. Your back cracks.

Rose grabs your shirt and with no warning drags you around the corner of the building. Jade grabs John’s hand and follows.

“Rose, what the fuck?” 

“What,” she says, tone sharp and hard, and lifts up your shirt. Jade gasps. “Is that?”

You look down to see what she's talking about. You don't see anything too out of the ordinary, just your own torso, looking a little less toned and a little skinnier than normal, but otherwise average. Your skin is littered with little nicks and a handful of scrapes; there's a big bruise going up your left side from slamming into the A/C block last night; and a bandage covers a shallow scratch from when you got sloppy and let Bro land a good slice. You’d managed to dodge enough to avoid anything serious, and he’d checked his stroke, but it had bled. (It was times like these that you were glad you usually fought shirtless.) 

“What, needed another peek at my sexy, sexy abs? Geez, Rose, all you had to do was ask.” Okay, so you're playing dumb a little, but you don't really see the whole problem. Yeah, strifing leads to injury. That's what happens when you fight with real swords.

She sighs and drops your shirt. “Dave … did your brother do this to you?”

“Uh, _yeah_. We had a super badass strife last night. I actually landed some good hits, too. You shoulda seen it.”

“What? You actually fought with your brother?”

“Real swords and everything. You don't have to tell me; I know I'm cool.” You can tell she's genuinely concerned, but it's not like Bro would ever _hit_ you or anything. Strifing is fair. It's bro against bro. You're not equals, exactly; he's still better than you. But you're far from defenseless.

Rose starts to speak but you cut her off. “It's not like we fight to kill or even seriously injure. Bro would never actually hurt me. This is just a scratch. I'm only covering it up like this cuz one time a couple years ago I didn't and it got a little infected. It's seriously not a big deal. Most of these are just cause I got clumsy.” 

“Dave, that's a pretty nasty bruise,” Jade interjects. “Are you _sure_ Bro’s not hurting you?”

You roll your eyes, though they can't see it behind your shades. “Jade, you don't get to talk. You and your brother grew up on Hellmurder Island with just your grandpa and that psycho dog of yours.”

“That's another thing. How long have you lived with just him?” Rose asks.

You feel yourself harden. “Since my parents fucking _died_.” You shouldn't have to deal with this. You take the most direct path to the door, shoving past Rose. 

The leftover good mood from the strife is gone.

You do your best not to take your anger out on Terezi, since she isn't related to the problem, but her friendly teasing gets under your nerves and you have to squeeze the stubs of your fingernails into your palms hard to keep from snapping at her.

“I'm not in the mood today, Terezi,” you say instead. “Rough morning.”

“Okay,” she says. “Need an ear?”

“Nah, just—” You let out a big breath. "Just wouldn’t mind a bit of a reprieve for today.”

“No problem. Got any plans this weekend?” And just like that, friendly banter that’s mostly unrelated to your problems. This chick is amazing. 

Your joking with Terezi today is entirely lighthearted. Neither of you makes your usual teasing jabs towards each other, and it’s exactly what you need. You feel loads better by the end of class.

Aradia’s cool in Biology, too, and you manage not to embarrass yourself today, which is nice. 

You beg and plead for your shades to your history teacher, but she absolutely refuses to let you wear them and she takes them until the end of class again. You put your head down on the desk again, eyes jammed shut, trying to absorb information so you don’t have to rely completely on Google when you’re filling in the notes you can’t do now.

Karkat pokes you in the back and hands you a note, which you read under the desk, squinting the whole time.

WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH THE SHADES?

You sigh. Of course they want to know. You write your reply as quickly as possible and reach backwards blindly to hand it to them.

my eyes are shit. comes with being albino. cant stand light w/o a headache.

After a pause for them to read your note, there’s another jab on your back. You allow yourself to be visibly annoyed as another note is pressed into your hand.

AND THE TEACHER WON’T LET YOU WEAR THEM? WOW, THAT SUCKS.

no fuckin shit, you write. if you dont mind id rather not get a headache right now.

After they read the note, there’s a whisper of “Sorry,” and you’re allowed to remain in your merciful darkness until the end of class. 

(Even getting your shades back is a squinty hassle. You have to promise not to even bring them to next class or she’ll take them all day, and you have to wait until you’re out of the room to put them back on.) 

Karkat waits for you by the door. “What’s your next class?”

“Art. You?”

“Ugh. Gym. They make me change with the boys.” 

“Sucks.”

Your head hurts a little but it isn't as bad as yesterday, so you don't have to suffer during art. You forgot to bring your photo, so you spend the period sketching instead. Nepeta brings a picture of herself and her sweaty friend as kids on a swing set. She chooses gold scratchboard. 

(She wears a dress in the picture, and her hair is in pigtails.)

She walks you to gym again, and you meet up with Equius halfway there again. Apparently they've got an art history course together after lunch. 

In the locker room, Jade tries to tell you how “unhealthy” it is to constantly be fighting with the guardian you're supposed to trust, but it seems like a load of crap to you and you ignore her with a stony face. Besides, you _do_ trust Bro. Why would you let him fight you with a deadly weapon if you didn't?

You keep your shirt on the entire time, even though you know you’re going to smell later. You don’t really want to deal with anyone’s reactions to your scratched-up arms.

(You're basically a sore, sweaty mess the entire class, but you almost hit Jade when she suggests that you take it easy.)

John doesn't mention Bro at all at lunch and you are immensely grateful. Jade attempts to talk to you about it but you resolutely ignore her and blatantly talk over her. Rose is silent, no doubt sure that abuse was your big secret, of all things. 

As if.

During Geometry, the pitiful staring is almost painful to watch. You nudge Rose and whisper “Talk to her.”

She whips around and all but snaps “I beg your pardon?”

“Kanaya. Talk to her. She hasn't noticed and isn't gonna unless you do something.”

She nibbles the inside of her lip and looks to the side, thinking. 

“Okay. I'll think of something.”

She stews for the rest of class and you're able to talk to John like a normal human being.

He pulls you aside after class, though.

“Dave, are you sure everything's okay with your bro?” 

“Yes. I'm fine, honestly.” 

“Okay, I believe you. You'd tell me if something was up, right?”

“Yeah, bro. Totally.” You feel sick as you say it. You didn't tell him about Alex. You didn't tell him when you got sick. You didn't tell him you were moving. And if you're honest with yourself, there's a lot you _wouldn't_ tell him. But there's a lot you wouldn't tell anyone, so that's okay, right?

“Hey, I gotta go to class. Tomorrow, though. When am I coming over?” Ah, sweet avoidance.

“Can you make it by ten? Here, lemme text you the address so you have it.” You nod and feel like an idiot when you’re surprised by the buzz in your pocket thirty seconds later. 

You still aren’t in a good mood when you get to Spanish. It must be obvious somehow, because Karkat is walking on eggshells. 

“¿Cómo estás?” they ask cautiously. _How are you?_

“Bien,” you say, probably a little more forcefully than necessary. _Fine._

They put their hands up in surrender. “Solo preguntaba.” _I was just asking_. They seem to hesitate for a moment. “Oí sobre tu pelea con tu hermano.” _I heard about your fight with your brother._

How would they have heard about that? One of your friends must have told someone. None of them were directly friends with Karkat, so that person had obviously told someone else. Maybe only Karkat and that person have the wrong idea about your home life, but it's more likely that a whole web of people are talking about it now. And that means talk is spreading. Which means someone will tell a counselor, who’ll talk to you and probably talk to someone who has the power to take you away from Bro. And they’ll come to your apartment and see the swords and deadly weapons and sex puppets littered around the apartment and you'll be out of there before you can say “Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff.” 

_Breathe_ , you remind yourself. It's still possible that only a few people are talking about it. It's still possible that nobody will tell a counselor. It's still possible that you'll be able to convince the counselor that you're fine. 

You're pretty sure you've maintained a neutral expression throughout this. Karkat hasn't reacted to any theoretical change in expression. They're just waiting for you to say something.

You sigh. “No es nada. Mis amigos están exagerandos.” _It's nothing. My friends are overreacting_. 

They definitely don't seem satisfied with this response, but they seem to accept that it's all they're going to get.

They ask what you think about the election. You tell them that you usually try to stay out of things at this stage of the game but that Bernie Sanders seems okay. The rest of the class learns about numbers and you fill out the worksheet in the first thirty seconds because the teacher yelled at you last class for not having it done.

(You don't think about the set to their jaw when they're focused or the way they constantly mess with their hair, pushing it out of their face or behind their ear or just running their fingers through it.)

During English, the two of you are having your usual conversation on a page of your notebook when they ask you out of the blue if you're busy that weekend.

yeah gonna go watch some shitty movies at johns all weekend pretty much

OH. WELL, DO YOU HAVE A PESTERCHUM?

You scoff.

do i have a pesterchum they ask. everybody and their brother has a pesterchum or something compatible. You pause a second before writing its turntechGodhead.

CARCINOGENETICIST

k but im at johns all day saturday and part of sunday so i probably wont be on

I’LL PROBABLY MESSAGE YOU TODAY JUST TO MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME A BUM HANDLE

yeah whatev sounds chill

The walk home is quiet, like it usually is. If any of your other friends walk home, they don't go the same direction as you. The alone time is especially nice today.

There’s a few messages waiting for you when you get home.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:21 --

CG: DAVE  
CG: THIS IS YOU, RIGHT?  
CG: YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME SOME BS CHUMHANDLE?  
CG: HOLY SHIT ANSWER YOU FUCKWIT  
TG: jesus christ chill bro  
TG: yes its dave  
TG: i walk home  
TG: it takes us mere mortals a little longer to get home than ye of the bus guild  
CG: OKAY  
CG: WELL HI  
CG: HOW’S IT GOING?  
TG: dude i literally saw you twenty minutes ago  
TG: my life has not been significantly altered in twenty minutes  
CG: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  
TG: your mom  
TG: just kidding im talking to you dumbass  
CG: I MEAN BESIDES THAT  
TG: not much  
TG: snackin  
TG: mm doritos  
TG: you  
CG: NOT MUCH, HONESTLY. I WAS THINKING ABOUT WATCHING A MOVIE.   
TG: if youre gonna like invite me over for a movie then pause for a second and think about what ive told you about my weekend plans and reconsider  
CG: SO IS THAT A YES?  
TG: fuck yeah  
TG: where do you live im in derse on clockwork road  
CG: I’M OVER IN PROSPIT ON HAZY HILL. ALSO KNOWN AS PROBABLY TOO FAR TO COMFORTABLY WALK.  
TG: its okay ill just coerce my bro into driving me  
TG: if hes home but he probably is i mean he said he was bringing someone over tomorrow  
TG: hell probably be hiding all our deadly weapons all night  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF HOUSE DO YOU HAVE?  
TG: excuse you its an apartment  
CG: YOU ARE SO FUCKING WEIRD  
CG: I’M PICKING THE MOVIE. BRING FOOD. MY BROTHER DOESN’T LET US KEEP ANY GOOD SNACKS IN THE HOUSE TO SUPPORT HIS STUPID VEGAN DIET.  
TG: ouch is this all i am  
TG: just a source of junk food  
TG: im hurt  
TG: ok well ill probably be there in like twenty minutes  
CG: UGH. FINE, I *GUESS* I’LL WAIT.  
TG: i feel so loved  


\--  turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 15:37 --

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for the cliffhanger. As usual, you're welcome to correct my mistakes if you catch them before I do, and I have not mysteriously become a native Spanish speaker, so if you have suggestions or corrections on that front, they're welcome! Plus, if you think I should add a tag or change the rating, make sure to let me know and I'll take care of that. And I'm always happy to get any sort of feedback at all!
> 
> (If you couldn't tell, Prospit and Derse are the two major neighborhoods in Maple Valley. Maple Valley is a real town but I want this to be how it is so I'm pretending it's made up.)
> 
> Update schedule-wise, it looks like from here on out I'll probably update once a week or so. This tends to be the busiest month for me (I myself had four concerts in the past week, along with prom and my parents had a concert at almost the same time as one of my concerts today) so they might come in a little faster after that, but I'm really not sure. I don't think it'll be quite regular enough to pin down a specific day of the week to update on, but who knows?
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave watches approximately three hundred movies with various combinations of people. TW for swearing, and that's pretty much it, except for some rumination on dead parents and grandparents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving y'all on a cliffhanger like that for so long. I didn't mean for this to take ages, but between dealing with my own colitis, the multiple classes I'm just narrowly avoiding failing, finals, and concert season, I've been majorly busy. And when I'm not busy, I'm totally inspired! I started like three other stories before I finished this chapter, I'm not even kidding.
> 
> Enjoy!

After you gather a handful of single-serve Dorito bags and a half-empty can of Twizzlers, you basically have to wrestle Bro out of the room he’s claimed as a workshop, but he drives you to Karkat’s house willingly enough after that. You meet their obnoxious brother, Kankri, who asks for your name, personal pronouns, and a list of triggers, but then starts listing his own triggers loudly before you can even open your mouth. (You’re pretty sure he keeps talking to the empty doorframe when Karkat tugs you past him and Bro drives away.) Their father speaks even louder than Karkat with his smooth baritone, but unlike them there’s never any sort of venom in it. You and Bro chat with him for a few minutes, much to Karkat’s dismay, and then they drag you down to their basement to watch the movie.

(“Takin’ me down to the dungeon already, Vantas? I dunno, I usually wait ‘til the third date to do this kinda kinky shit.”)

(“Oh my god FUCK YOU!”)

The movie is some romcom that you follow for about the first twenty minutes before giving up and watching Karkat instead. They get really into it, practically screaming in frustration when the male lead inevitably does something stupid, and you’re pretty sure they shed at least a few tears at the end when the couple finally gets together.

Bro comes to pick you up but Mr. Vantas somehow manages to coerce the pair of you into staying for dinner. He makes actual burritos from scratch, and you’re pretty sure Bro is having an actual flashback from the look on his face while they finish cooking. (You pretend not to notice that he escapes to the bathroom until they're ready to eat.)

Kankri, instead of eating the delicious burritos like a normal human being, drinks some thick green concoction out of a glass jar and eats something grain-like. “It’s a kale and kiwi nutrition shake, completely vegan, lactose-free, and gluten-free,” he explains, and goes on to explain the benefits of such a diet and you stopped listening at “vegan,” and you doubt Karkat ever started listening.

You don’t stay very long after dinner, and the car ride back to Derse seems even more quiet and awkward than car rides with Bro usually are. He immediately ducks into his bedroom and you duck into yours.

You know what this is about. He knew your parents a lot better than you did, and lived with them a lot longer. When they died, he was kind of stuck with you and you know the first year or so was the worst for him. You think back to then, calling up foggy memories of him before he dyed his hair blonde and the old woman you stayed with when he was working as a deejay. Except for whatever reason the image of him with hair its natural color won’t gel right in your head, so you open up Photoshop and recolor a picture of him to have dark hair, and man is it fucking weird. It makes his whole face look different, makes him look darker and more sinister, almost. The dark stubble on his chin seems scruffier. You suddenly remember that before your parents adopted him, he got shunted from home to home because he kept fighting with his foster siblings or the neighborhood kids, and that image of him makes more sense with his hair like this.

You’ve never thought to question why he dyed his hair. It’s always just been how he is. You’re albino; Bro’s blond. In fact—you poke your head out the door of your room and see the light under the bathroom door and hear the absence of running water—he’s dyeing his roots right now, probably to impress his date. (He’s really taking this one seriously. Most of the time he doesn’t even hide the ninja stars scattered around the house or the swords behind the couch.) His hair tends to be a point of pride with him, and he styles it every day unless he’s in a seriously dark mood, which doesn’t happen very often or last very long. He dyes it religiously, too, every six weeks like clockwork.

But damn if that mystery didn’t just get solved. _Nice work, Dave._ You consider literally patting yourself on the back but decide that the occasion doesn’t really warrant it.

You have a message waiting from Jade that somehow got hidden behind your Photoshop window. You open it.

  
\-- gardenGnostic [GG] has begun pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]  at 20:03 --  


GG: hey dave!  
TG: sup harley  
GG: how was the movie?  
TG: it was just some shitty romco  
TG: wait  
TG: what  
TG: are you and karkat suddenly in cahoots  
GG: no, silly! :B lucky guess?  
TG: you never fail to freak me out a little  
GG: gasp! the great dave strider, freaked out by little ol me? shock and awe!  
TG: psh never  
GG: i call bs! you admitted to it!  
TG: and that never needs to leave this chat  
TG: i still smell cahoots  
GG: okay fine i messaged him while you were eating dinner together and he chewed me out afterwards. happy?  
TG: whew  
TG: i am so relieved that you arent spying on me with some mysterious magical powers  
GG: yeah whatever :P  
TG: did you lose a tooth or something wtf  
GG: that’s me sticking my tongue out, silly!  
TG: youre such a goof i stg  
GG: :B  
TG: provin my point harley  
TG: provin my point  
GG: but anyway, did you have fun at karkat’s house?  
TG: yeah it was chill  
TG: it was nice to have, like, actual burritos again instead of the microwave kind  
TG: i mean bro cooks and all but one its not that great and two he never makes mexican food anymore  
GG: do you miss it?  
TG: i guess  
TG: idk it was just nice to have real mexican food made by people who are from mexico  
TG: oh man egbert would laugh his ass off if he knew what im about to say but  
TG: its like the difference between making cake from scratch and making it from a box  
TG: ugh there i said it  
GG: i won’t laugh my ass off too much, don’t worry! :B  
TG: actually that reminds me  
TG: you and karkat are friends  
TG: ?  
GG: yep! they were really the first person besides john and rose that i met when i moved here. it’s kinda funny, actually! we met in the changing room.  
TG: thats still shitty btw  
GG: yeah, but whatever. and it’s okay, because that’s how i met karkat! they’re basically the most fun ever to antagonize, did you notice?  
TG: oh shit yes  
GG: >:B  
TG: oh shit  
TG: evil buckteeth  
TG: karkat better run  
GG: haha!  
GG: anyway, jake is dying to go see this movie in the theaters with john, even though they’re both going to spend the entire weekend watching movies with you.  
TG: jakes gonna be there too  
GG: he’ll probably try to join in, yeah, but i can persuade him to leave you two alone if you want. i don’t like movies as much as he does, so if you prefer i can convince him to do something with me.  
TG: hm i might have to take you up on that  
TG: but idk honestly its probably fine  
TG: it just might be a lot of crockharlenglibert dudes for a day  
TG: whatev ill keep you on call then unless youre doing something else  
GG: no, my plan for the weekend is pretty much hang out in my room fiddling with my bass and whatever.  
TG: are you sure you dont want to hang out with us  
GG: yeah, john binge-watched all of these movies all summer and i do not need to see them again.  
GG: i have no idea how he just keeps watching the same movies over and over again!  
GG: john is great but sometimes i don't understand him.  
TG: the mystery of egbert  
GG: ugh, jake is yelling at me! i have to go now, sorry :(  
TG: k later  
GG: yeah, see ya!

  
\-- gardenGnostic [GG] has ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:31 --  


After you finish talking to Jade, you lean back and try to discern what Bro’s doing and whether or not you should go to bed. What time are you going over to John’s again? You try to think about it and you honest to god cannot remember, so you message John.

  
\--  turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering  ectoBiologist [EB]  at 20:33 --  


TG: yo egbert  
TG: what time am i coming over to yours tomorrow  
EB: you already forgot? come on dave!  
EB: you’re coming over at ten but whenever’s fine if that doesn't work!  
TG: no i dont think ill be physically able to get there any earlier  
TG: weekends bro  
TG: they are for two things  
TG: sleeping and purposely not sleeping  
EB: anyway, i think ten is best because then we can start with the movie watching right away and we can take a lunch break after the first one. you know, kind of ease ourselves into it!  
TG: yeah sweet  
TG: hey should i bring any movies  
TG: i mean me and bro mostly have horror movies and weird psychological shit but i can bring some if you want  
EB: no, i’ve got us pretty well covered, hehe!  
TG: uh oh  
TG: the infamous egbertian hehe  
TG: this means trouble  
TG: its the harbinger of the apocalypse basically  
TG: the worlds gonna end in a whirl of buck teeth and creepy laughter and shitty movies  
EB: hehe, yeah, better watch out!  
EB: anyway jane is bugging me about something or another so i gotta go  
EB: see ya!  
TG: later

  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:48 --  


You waste time on the internet for another couple hours and actually manage to get in bed before Bro comes in and tells you to. Before you go to sleep, you remember sitting by Karkat on the couch, close enough to touch but not actually touching, with the popcorn bowl in your lap so they had to keep reaching over and brushing your arm or your shoulder or your leg. The loose sleeve of their sweater kept dipping into the popcorn bowl (after brushing your arm or your hand on the rim of the bowl, and it was exactly as soft as it looked) and they kept trying to wipe off salt and butter.

You know they were watching the movie, but as you drift off you let yourself wonder if they had been watching you.

You wake up at nine thirty, which is really too bad because not only does it take ten minutes to get to Prospit when traffic’s good, but Bro is probably still asleep and he pretty much hates being woken up. You throw on some decent clothes and shove some pajamas into a bag and begin the long, arduous process of waking him up with two Pop-Tarts in your hand -- one for him as a peace offering, one for you.

He’s typically grumpy and he’s standing the instant you turn the doorknob, but he doesn’t grumble except to whine that he’d been working and hadn’t slept much.

Before you get in the truck he lays a hand on your hair and says “I’m glad you’re makin’ friends here, li’l man.”

You groan exaggeratedly and duck your head away, but you’re thinking the same thing. You almost never left the apartment in Texas, except occasionally to go over to Alex’s or Siena’s house, and sleep over once or twice.

John tackles you to the sound of a dog barking before you can even open the door, but somehow you manage to keep your footing and he lets go and drags you inside with a wave to Bro.

“You can come in if you want, uh, Mr. Strider.”

“May as well,” he says with a shrug, and follows you and John inside.

You’d thought that Karkat’s house was a fine example of suburbia, but somehow John’s house is even more… suburban. It wasn’t that their house wasn’t well-maintained or anything, but here it’s obvious that someone actually cares about how it looks and everything. Most appliances and furniture seem generally new, and there’s like, an actual style of design. John lets go of your arm and shouts “Dad? Jake? Jade? Guys, they’re here!” A giant white dog tries to tackle you and sniff your butt.

“How many people actually live in this house, Egbert?” you say, trying to get the massive dog away from your butt without, like, hurting it.

“Well, normally it’d just be me, Dad, and Jane, but Grandpa died like three years ago, and that’s when Jade came to live with us, and so she shares a room with Jane in the summer and gets her own room while Jane’s at college. And Jake lived on the island for a while, but then he just kinda decided he didn’t want to be alone on the island so now he’s sharing with me until he can find his own place.” While he’s explaining this to you, he’s wandering into the kitchen and opening doors and cabinets and you (and the dog, still trying to sniff at you and jump up on its hind legs) and Bro are just sort of trailing along behind him like weird blonde ducklings. At least two of which are taller than the so-called “mother duck.”

(Okay maybe you’re not _quite_ taller than John but it’s really close and you’d be taller if you weren’t slouching anyway.)

John’s dad finally appears through the kitchen doorway and the first thing you notice about him is that he’s white. Which John and Jade are very much not.

“Hello. You must be Mr. Strider and Dave.”

You can see Bro’s face visibly darken with a blush and he puts his hands up defensively. “No, no, no, Dave’s my brother. I’m Dirk. Mr. Strider was his -- _our_ father.”

A wrinkle appears between Mr. Egbert’s eyebrows but he doesn’t push for more information.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dirk. And Dave, of course. John’s been very excited for this weekend.”

“Daaaaaaaad!” John whines, to which you snort.

Jade chooses this moment to barrel down the stairs and nearly crash into Bro in her attempt to… you don’t even know what she’s going for, but there is a very large girl with long hair in a long skirt coming at you and you are a little bit scared. She somehow stops short before she actually knocks you over and then she’s standing six inches away from you _bouncing._

“Hi Dave! Has John shown you around yet? Of course he hasn’t! But I see you’ve met Bec. Bec! Here, boy! Heel!” The seriously massive dog finally gets its snout away from your pants and lies down on the floor at Jade’s feet.

“What kind of dog is that, wolf?”

“We’re not really sure, he’s from the island. But he’s very sweet and he always has good intentions!”

You nod slowly, suddenly mistrusting the ginormous beast at Jade’s feet even more.

Another freaking person barrels into the kitchen, and while it’s a perfectly nice kitchen, no kitchen was made to hold six people and a monster-dog, so he ends up actually bumping right into Bro, and for a second you think this new person is toast.

“Sorry about that, mate! I’m Jake, and I just couldn’t resist the commotion!”

_Holy shit he’s taller than Bro you want to laugh your ass off at how uncomfortable he looks._

After a pause to snort to yourself about this, you turn to Jade and mutter “So why does your brother have a British accent but you don’t?”

“He spent years traveling with our grandma before she died, and she was British. I liked it better on the island, so I spent more time with Grandpa,” she says quietly in return. Huh. Jade speaking quietly. You hadn’t thought it was possible.

John’s dad finally manages to convey a general message of “let’s go to the much bigger room where some of us will actually end up spending our time” over the din of Jake’s loud, accented chatter (which seems to be mostly directed at Bro, who has an impossibly rare half-smile on his face despite actually being smaller than someone) and Bec’s renewed barking. You all squeeze through the cafe doors of the kitchen and breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Bro talks to Mr. Egbert (who for whatever reason insists on you all calling him Dad) for about thirty seconds about how you’ll get home tomorrow (Mr. Egbert will drive you and you will refuse to call him Dad) and then he leaves you sitting in the middle of a CrockHarlEngliBert pile. Minus the Crock.

And there’s a phrase you’ll avoid thinking about for the rest of your life.

Jade announces that she’ll only be staying for one movie and then she is going to “do something with my weekend, goddammit!”

John groans about this, naturally, but you’re secretly glad because you’re pretty sure Mr. Egbert must feed all his relatives mutant growth hormones or something. You’d thought Jade was big, all muscles and _taller than you_ (grumble grumble), but John’s no toothpick himself, though you’re pretty sure you still have an inch or two on him height-wise. Jake’s another story entirely. The guy is huge. He’s not a lot taller than Bro, but unlike Bro he doesn’t slouch and has big broad shoulders and thick arms and legs and he’s just generally way bigger than pretty much everyone in the room by a lot.

In short, you and your one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet are being crushed in a big-person sandwich.

You don't think you mind so much.

John finally puts in the first movie, which stars his second man-crush, Matthew McacHoghghhneayay (you wouldn’t spell it right if you could), and asks his dad to make you all some popcorn, two bowls of which are delivered to you before the names stop appearing on the bottom of the screen.

You break for meals every three movies or so. Jade forgets to leave and you end up as some kind of super-pillow for John, Jake, and Jade by about one in the morning, but somehow you manage to fall asleep to the menu screen of _Ghostbusters 2._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make myself laugh way too hard writing this sometimes, I swear. It's a little bit sad. As always, don't hesitate to correct my grammar and spelling or question anything that seems wrong! And I'd love to hear what you think about the story or this chapter!
> 
> I've been considering writing certain scenes from other characters' viewpoints; would anyone be interested in reading that? It'd probably be request-based.
> 
>  **12/12/16 Edit:** Just made one tiny change to a line of Bro's dialogue. Nothing much, it just hints at his and Dave's upbringing a little.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movin' right along (footloose and fancy free). A week passes and shit happens. No major warnings that I can think of, except Dave thinks about some icky illness stuff and it's fairly descriptive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for how ridiculously long this chapter took! I kept writing other things for no reason, and I didn't even finish anything so I'd have something to show for it! But the long-awaited Chapter Six is finally here, so enjoy and remember that your feedback is welcome!

When you wake up, you’re really warm and kind of cramped and you’re pretty sure your face is right next to someone’s armpit. You open your eyes blearily and discover that yes, your face is getting to be pretty well acquainted with Jade’s armpit right now, and she and John are both snoring on top of you. Jake is nowhere to be seen, but you think you hear noise and quiet voices in the kitchen, so he’s likely with Mr. Egbert. 

Dadbert. Sure. Compromise.

You're kind of genuinely uncomfortable, so you pick Jade’s arm off your head and extricate yourself from under John and then you're actually standing. You stretch a little, because “in between couch cushions and big people” is not the most comfortable bed substitute, and then you take your bag to the bathroom to get dressed.

It's then that you notice your pill container, which still has last night's pill in it. You have a silent moment of panic. Do you take the extra Prednisone or skip the dose? It's only one pill. Fuck. You don't know what to do and you don't want to do the wrong thing in case it messes something up and you really want to stay healthy. 

Okay, you're cool, you’re fine. You'll just ask Bro. You text him, trying not to fumble too much.

DAVE: i forgot to take my pill last night what do i do

You're waiting for his reply for at least a good five minutes, but John and Jade must still be asleep because nobody comes to check on you.

DIRK: Skip it. It's one dose. Just don't do it again.

DAVE: k

You get dressed quickly and leave the bathroom, and even though John and Jade are still conked out on the couch, you smell pancakes. Jake is just coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron made for a much smaller person, holding a plate of (sure enough) pancakes and bacon.

“Morning, Dave! Care for some breakfast? We’ve made pancakes and bacon, obviously, and there are some eggs and hash browns on their way.” 

“Sign me the fuck up, yeah.”

Jake sets the plate down and Dadbert brings in the eggs and hash browns. You're filling a plate when John wanders in, yawning, followed by Jade rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. You'd thought that your plate was full, but as the three of them pound down two overflowing plates each, you begin to understand the excess with which Dadbert cooks. 

You watch a couple more movies and Dadbert offers to drive you home, which Jake counters with an offer of his own, since he apparently needs to run some errands. You shoot a text to Bro telling him this so he can hopefully get some pants on or something. During the car ride, Jake tells you about his grandmother and asks about your parents.

“They died years ago. Car accident. I barely knew them. Bro pretty much raised me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that!”

“It’s whatever. I was four; it’s not like I have any tragic memories.”

“So you just live with your brother, then? How’s that?”

You tell him that it’s nice, because unless it’s something stupid, you don’t have to worry about not being allowed to do things. He’d let you get your ears pierced in seventh grade with hardly a protest, just a brief, calculating silence over the phone and a “Sure, just don’t forget to clean ‘em and shit.” (You’d gone with Siena and Alex, and she’d managed to goad you into getting the Hello Kitty studs.) He lets you sleep most of the day on weekends. You don’t have chores to speak of, although you’re expected to clean up after yourself to some extent. 

You stop yourself before you start telling him about strifing, though. And you don’t mention anything too heavy, like the time in elementary school when Samantha’s father had forbidden her from speaking to you because you were a “devil child.” That had been the first time you’d really understood that red eyes weren’t normal, and Bro had bought these stupid-looking matching anime shades for the pair of you. He still wears his, although you have better ones now. Or the time you came home from Siena’s house drunk once and instead of yelling at you, he’d made you drink a bunch of water and let you go to sleep. He’d chewed you out the next morning instead, when you were miserable, to let the lesson sink in. (It had.) 

And most of all, you don’t tell him a word about your… illness. Disease. Whatever. Before the move, you’d been getting to a pretty okay place. Bro’d even gotten a nicer car for about six months before you started getting sick. Except then he’d started working two jobs again, changing his schedule so instead of sleeping while you were in school, he’d slept during the scant few hours between the end of his gig and when he had to take you to school. Dinner was fast food more often than not by the end of the month. You’d needed drugs, and tests, and doctor visits, and he’d had to come with to every appointment and listen to you describe just how soft your poop was. Not to mention the samples. Probably the only thing worse than having to spoon your own soft, disgusting, _warm_ poop into a vial and getting some on your hand is having to come into the bathroom with your teenage brother and help him do it. Or so you imagine. Neither end of that scenario is ever fun, even when it goes smoothly.

(He’d bought a package of disposable latex gloves and stashed them in the cabinet next to the toilet after that particular incident.)

You come out of your reverie to realize that you’re parked in front of your apartment and Jake is chattering away about something that he seems to think you’re listening to. 

“... and that’s why I really must say that it’s absolutely crucial to have no fewer than five computers on your person at all times! Especially in today’s world, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, man, gotta love the power of the Internets. Okay, thanks for the ride and all—” You’re halfway out of the car when he gets out too.

“All right if I come inside for a spell? I’m not in any sort of hurry.”

“Oh—no, the, uh, the apartment’s probably all messy, and I dunno if Bro’s ‘friend’ is still over or whatever, I mean usually they leave but honestly you never know, he was really trying to impress this one so who knows what’s going on up there, so, uh, thanks for the ride, Jake.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine! Goodbye, Dave, it was nice to meet you!”

You wave goodbye and head inside, texting Bro so he’s not surprised when you show up. 

The guy who answers the door is not Bro.

He’s ginormous, bigger than Jake, totally ripped, and bald, with a big green skull tattooed on his face. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of pool ball boxers. There’s another tattoo of two entwining snakes on his right arm, one of the heads hissing at his shoulder, and he’s got a big complicated piece on his chest. He’s also got a prosthetic leg.

“You must be. The little brother. Dave.” His voice is loud and his speech is choppy, but you think you recognize a British accent in there somewhere. 

“Um. Yes. Hi? Who are you?”

Bro appears behind the guy, and while he’s not, like, _hidden_ behind him, he’s at least four or five inches shorter. 

“This is Caliborn. Remember that guy I used to talk to online?” Uh, the one who’d lowkey stalked him and sent him threats if he didn’t draw some seriously weird stuff?

“The one who had you drawing all that weird—”

“Yeah, him. Anyway, turns out he lives around here, so…” He makes some sort of gesture, and you really don’t feel the need to know any more about the situation.

“Yeah, yeah, I—I got it. Can I like, come in?”

“Yeah. Cal, get out of the way, what are you doing?”

“Hello, Dave,” he says, extending a hand. You shake it, figuring that right now it’s best to err on the side of politeness. His grip is uncomfortably tight, but at least he doesn’t try to hold on for too long, and when he lets go he retreats back to the couch, where he must have been sitting before.

“Come back here. And I will crush you at MarioKart. Yet again.”

Bro fixes his shades and swipes a hand over his hair. “Probably oughta eat something around now. Did you have lunch at John’s?”

“Nah. Any leftovers?”

“Pizza. Cold okay?”

You grunt in affirmation and take four slices into your bedroom, but not before you see Bro sit back on the couch and set a paper plate with a few slices of Meat Lover’s on Caliborn’s lap. 

Caliborn is still there when Bro heats up chicken patties for dinner, though he does leave after that. Bro walks him to his car and they make out there for at least three solid minutes, which you only know because Bro’s hair is messed up and his shades lopsided when he comes back in.

“Nice hickey,” you tell him, even though you can’t see anything. He runs to the bathroom to check, though, and you’re totally laughing at him when he comes out. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, face red. 

“Nah,” you say, and stick out your tongue.

He grumbles softly and chucks a pillow at you, which you hold up to your face and make gross moaning noises. 

“You little shit!” he says, ripping the pillow out of your hands and whacking you with it. You grab another pillow off the couch, and damn is it cheesy, but you totally pillow-wrestle him right there. He manages to get your pillow away from you so you tackle him headlong and he goes down with an “oof.” 

“Not right now, man,” he says, and you nod and back off. 

“So it was _that_ kind of night,” you say, and he shoves you on your way to your room. 

You mess around on your turntables for a while and go to bed when Bro chucks something at the door. 

The next week is about when you start to fall into a proper rhythm. Mornings are spent goofing off with John and bantering with Rose, you banter with Terezi during Health and Aradia during Biology. Karkat offers to take notes for you in History on Monday. The teacher gives you detention on Tuesday and calls Bro, which is a memorable affair, if an unsuccessful one. She tries again on Wednesday, to the same effect, and gives up on the detentions but still refuses to let you wear your shades in class. 

Your Art teacher still talks too much in front of the class, but you make good progress on your scratchboard drawing, for which you’ve chosen the picture hanging on your wall of Ben Stiller’s weird, sort of gaunt face. Gym is still difficult but you think you’re finally getting somewhere by Friday. You sit by John, Rose, and Jade at lunch, though you do finally discover where Karkat sits (in the back corner by a ridiculously tall and skeletally thin stoner, their friend from History, and Terezi, among others). Spanish is exactly as boring as ever, and you spend the hour every week primarily talking to Karkat. The teacher announces on Monday that you and a small group will be assigned a scene to perform the following Friday, and that while costumes are unnecessary, memorization is encouraged. You manage to get paired up with Karkat and convince them to do a romance scene between Romeo and Juliet.

Karkat auditions for the musical, something about people on roofs, and ends up in the chorus. (Terezi auditions too, but doesn’t even make the chorus, probably because she can’t sing or dance.) The art teacher tells you about the Art Club, which trades off Tuesdays with the GSA, but follows her statement up with: “But the room’s open and I’m here pretty much every day, so you’re welcome to come in whenever, really.” You consider signing up for a sport, but since you hate teams and don’t care for track and field, your options are limited. But there’s a Dairy Queen, some sort of sub-and-pizza shop, a McDonald’s, and a local café all within walking distance, so since Karkat doesn’t get picked up for nearly an hour after school ends, you go to the Dairy Queen or the café with them and some of their friends, and sometimes John, Rose, or Jade will come too. 

They get along well with Karkat and their friends, generally, which is honestly a relief. After the initial meeting, Jade bickers with them like an old married couple. John walks on eggshells around them at first, but eventually falls into something more comfortable, despite the occasional slip-up. Rose speaks intelligently with them until they fall into gossiping like hens about Vriska and Kanaya. 

That Thursday is your first doctor’s appointment with your new doctor. He’s from Iceland, apparently, and speaks quietly with a thick accent and no sense of urgency. And he can’t give you a note for your shades.

“I’m your pediatric gastroenterologist, not your primary care doctor,” he says, and you groan loudly.

“Ey, cool it,” says Bro sharply. “We need to meet him too, anyway.”

You go over what drugs you’re currently on and get set up with a pharmacy for refills. Bro makes an appointment with your new primary care doctor so you can get a note for your shades.

The appointment is in a week. Great.

On Friday you come home to Bro rushing around with an untied tie around his neck.

“I’M OUT OF HAIR GEL!” he shouts to you.

“Chill, there’s a Walgreens a block away. Need me to get you some?” you ask, to which he nods frantically. When you get back with the hair gel, he’s lying flat on his back on the floor in the kitchen.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“He’s coming to my set. Like. For me. And staying for my whole set. Like. For _me._ ”

“Are you okay? Who are you talking about?”

He sits bolt upright. “Did you get the hair gel?”

“Yeah, it’s right here. Are—are you still, like, with Caliborn?”

He takes it and is in the bathroom in a flash. You follow behind him.

“Yeah—is my ass dirty from being on the floor? Brush it off.”

“What the fuck, dude?” you say, but whack his ass a couple times to get the dust off. “I literally cannot remember the last time I saw you like this.” You cross your arms and lean back. “You’re _really_ into this Caliborn guy.”

He reddens and works at his hair even more frantically. “Shut up.”

“I knew it!” you crow. “Dirk and Caliborn, sitting in a tree! F-U-C-K-I-N-G!” 

“Holy shit get out!” he yells, and you do, for once, albeit laughing loudly.

You’re kind of bored as shit, though, and it'll only get worse once Bro leaves since you’ll just be alone in the apartment with no one to bother. So you pull up Pesterchum and message Karkat.

  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG]  has begun pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 17:01 --  


TG: hey  
CG: HEY. WHAT’S UP?  
TG: bros going on a date but otherwise nothing  
CG: IS IT STILL THAT BIG GUY WITH ALL THE TATTOOS?  
TG: yeah and its kinda weird  
TG: he doesnt normally do the long relationship thing  
CG: MAYBE HE’S SETTLING DOWN. HE’S ONLY WHAT, THIRTY?  
TG: twenty-six  
CG: HUH.  
CG: I THOUGHT HE WAS OLDER THAN THAT.  
TG: nah  
CG: HE’S YOUNGER THAN MY PARENTS WERE WHEN THEY GOT MARRIED.  
TG: weird  
TG: adults are weird  
CG: I GUESS  
TG: are you doing anything  
CG: NOT IN PARTICULAR, NO.  
TG: we should hang out  
TG: im bored as shit  
CG: YEAH, OKAY. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHERE TO GO OR DO YOU WANT TO JUST PICK A HOUSE?  
TG: lets pick a house  
TG: theres a bona fide mansion down my street if you follow it all the way down  
TG: lets go there  
CG: WAIT, REALLY?  
TG: yes karkat  
TG: lets break into some rich persons house just for kicks  
CG: YOU BILGESPEWING RAINBOW FUCKMUFFIN  
CG: YOU SUCK  
TG: iconic  
TG: jesus christ im crying real tears here  
CG: WHY ARE WE FRIENDS?  
TG: my pretty face  
TG: i dunno whats there to do in this town  
CG: HM.  
CG: I KNOW A SKATING RINK THAT’S OPEN PRETTY LATE, BUT THAT’S ABOUT IT THAT I CAN THINK OF.  
TG: eh  
TG: roller skating or ice skating  
CG: ROLLER. IT PROBABLY WOULDN’T BE BUSY, BUT I CAN’T VOUCH FOR THE QUALITY OF THE MUSIC SINCE THEY’LL PROBABLY ONLY PLAY TOP FORTY SHIT  
TG: eh im not feeling it  
TG: although they say physical shit like rollerblading makes for a good first date  
TG: endorphins or some shit  
TG: so you know  
TG: pro tip  
CG: WELL, ALL THE OTHER STUFF I CAN THINK OF INVOLVES MORE MONEY UNLESS YOU JUST WANT TO GO TO A PARK.  
TG: yeah why not  
TG: shit ill even bring my camera  
CG: WAIT, IN THAT CASE COME OVER FIRST.  
CG: IF YOU’RE TAKING PICTURES I NEED TO REDO MY NAILS JUST IN CASE.  
CG: UNLESS THAT’LL FUCK UP YOUR LIGHTING.  
TG: nah depending on how long it takes that actually might be for the best  
TG: the best natural light tends to be either on a bright but cloudy day or in the early evening  
CG: OKAY, COOL.  
CG: CAN YOU GET A RIDE OVER HERE?  
TG: yeah looks like the timing is gonna line up just right  
TG: see you at yours then  
CG: SEE YOU  
TG: hella  


  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]  at 17:06 --  


“Bro, can you gimme a ride to Prospit before your date?” you holler.

“If you’ll shut up about my stupid date!” he calls.

“Deal,” you say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you catch an error I've missed (entirely likely, since at least half of this was typed on my phone) or see anything you'd like me to tag or anything of that nature, feel free to let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited visit to Karkat's house and the park, from new eyes.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so_ sorry that this took so long to get out! I was just swamped to death with the musical, and coming out as nonbinary myself (fun fact: I made Karkat nonbinary before I knew _I_ was nonbinary), and the mess that's going on in my head. And I just had the _worst_ writer's block with this chapter. I wrote several thousand words before realizing I hated it and it made no sense and wasn't going where I wanted it to, so I started over and started over again and _finally_ came up with this thing. I'm also sorry it's shorter than normal, by the way, but I definitely wanted to end it where I did.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and Dave is _totally_ late. You’ve already put a top coat on your toenails, which are now a deep maroon, and you’re scrubbing the old purple polish off of your fingernails when you hear the door upstairs open.

“Karkat, you should give me a fist bump,” he announces, “because I’m pretty sure I just managed to stun your brother into silence.”

You scoff. “Oh, he finally fucking arrives. You took so long, I already finished my feet! And I’m doing your nails too, so pick a color.” 

He hesitates briefly and picks up a bottle of polish, a bright red you like called Lollipop. “Gotta go with the classic red.”

You glance at his hand to make sure the color isn’t going to do strange things with his skin tone. “Sure, that’ll work. Have you ever painted your nails before?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p”.

“We’ll do you first, then. Sit down already, asswagon. Oh, ew, you bite your nails? That’s fucking disgusting. Now I have to fucking file them down first.” You grab the hand closest to you and start smoothing down the edges of his nails.

You work as he rambles about the Powerpuff Girls guy, Professor X. (You have no idea how he got to that topic.) You pretty much let him talk, which you don’t do very often for anyone. You like to talk; you like your voice to be heard. You’re pretty sure that's not why Dave talks so much, though. For him, it’s more like he opens his mouth and whatever’s in his head comes out, for the most part.

By the time you’re done filing his nails down so the bitten edges aren't all nasty, he's bored with his own rambling and is asking you if anything interesting has happened lately.

Oh, _has_ it.

“Okay, so you know how Kanaya has that painfully obvious thing for Vriska?”

“Oh yeah, that's the girl Rose is hot for. Yeah, sure.”

You raise your eyebrows accusingly, but go on. “Well, she finally grew the stones to ask her out. Kanaya did. Except later that day, Rose asks _her_ out. But Vriska’s already said yes to _Kanaya_.”

He open his mouth in surprise and looks to the side. “Shit. I'm gonna have to talk to Rose later tonight. This was today?”

You nod. “And I was there. Rose came up to us _just_ as Kanaya was telling me about Vriska and I had to watch the whole scene unfold. It was a mess.”

“Ouch.”

“I know,” you say. “You got any juicy dirt?”

He frowns, searching. “Mm, nothing you wouldn't know about. But, okay, the stuff I have that you _would_ know about isn't much either. You got anything else?”

“Eh…”

“Embarrassing stories.”

You blanch. “Uh…”

“Okay, twenty questions.”

“Sure. You first?” you offer.

“Oh so polite,” he says. “Mm, okay, have you ever kissed someone?”

“Uh. No. Though I _almost_ kissed Terezi once. She punched me.”

He cackles. “Ha! Nice. Your turn.”

“Why'd you leave Texas?”

He deflates a bit. “Various reasons. Bro got a new job or whatever.”

“Really,” you say skeptically. “That seems more like the reason you _came_ rather than the reason you _left_.”

He sighs. “Well, there wasn't exactly one big reason. It was kind of a lot of things. Bro’s job, uh, I dunno. I was in kind of a rough spot at that point, in a lot of ways, so I don't think that was, like, _the reason_ , but it wasn't, like, _hurting_.” You think he sees the concern on your face (because really, what kind of “rough spot” has someone moving across the country?) because he says, too fast: “What’s your sexuality? If that’s not, like, too personal.”

You blink. Topic change. “Oh. I’m bisexual and biromantic. You?”

“Pansexual. Uh. Does it count as a question if I ask you what ‘biromantic’ means?” Huh. He knows what it means to be pansexual but not biromantic. Well, you suppose everyone comes across different stuff at different times.

“Yeah, I think so. Um. Okay. So, you have, like, sexual attraction, and you know what that is, and then you have romantic attraction, which is more like ‘I want to date you and do couple-y things but not necessarily with sex.’ So biromantic is pretty close to bisexual, except it's a different type of attraction.”

He nods slowly. “Alright. Okay, cool. Your turn.”

“Oh, right.” You’re shit at these games. Why did you agree to this? What has he already asked you? Mm, you already asked about Texas, you don't want to ask if he's kissed anyone. “What's your favorite color?” Stupid, but safe.

“Red,” he says, waggling the hand you've finished. “You?”

“I really like slightly bruise-toned maroon. And don't just keep asking me my own questions, dicksniffer.”

“Kinky.”

“Favorite food.”

“Does apple juice count? Cuz man, that's some good shit. And I got one for you. Which language that you speak do you like the most?”

That’s a tough one, and you've never really thought about it. Spanish, which you’ve spoken since you were a baby and is full of pure vowel sound and simple consonants (and is so much easier to spell in), or English, where you don't have to gender every noun but nothing looks quite like it sounds.

“I don't know. I don't think I can choose. Well, Spanish _sounds_ prettier, I’ll give it that. What about you?”

“See, _now_ who’s flipping my questions back at me? Uh. Huh, I guess the same thing. Spanish definitely sounds prettier, but otherwise I can’t really choose a favorite. Are—are Kankri and your father—are they… cool about… you, and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kankri can be a bit of a condescending dick about it, but Pápi’s cool. Pronouns took him a while, but he always corrected himself and made, like, a legitimate effort. Um. I'd ask if your brother is okay about it but he's, you know, dating a guy, so… Hm. How was Texas? Just, like, in general.”

“I loved Texas. Didn't have the greatest friends, but other than that I liked it. Well, okay, maybe the school was a dick about, like, homophobia and shit, which wasn't my favorite, but other than that it was nice. It was home.” He pauses for a moment. “Can you sing?”

“Strider, the day you hear me sing will be the day you die. Can you draw?”

“Um. I like to think so. You?”

You scoff. “No. I mean, if I draw a person it’ll look like a person, but I can't _draw_. Can you sing?”

“I like to pretend I can. Favorite band?”

“Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

There’s no way he won’t judge you. “No.”

“Aw, pretty please?” He tilts his head. “I know you can't see it, but I’m batting my eyelashes.”

“My Chemical Romance,” you mutter.

“Huh?”

“MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE,” you shout.

He bites his lip.

“If you laugh I’ll fuck up your nails,” you warn. “What’s your favorite band, then, if you’re so superior?”

“LL Cool J is the shit and I _am_ superior.” You scoff, but he plows through. “If you could have a pet, what would it be?”

“We did have pets. If I could choose, I’d just have one cat. More than three is too many. You?”

“We don't have any pets but I’d get something cool, like a really big lizard. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Oh man. Uh, Spain always seemed cool? Convenient, obviously, what with the language, but it’s also just a really beautiful country and I dunno Italy would be cool too, or Greece. How about you?”

“I dunno.” He pauses, thinking. “I guess I’d probably just go back to Texas.”

“What? Why?” He keeps saying how he left for a reason; why would he want to go back?

“I dunno. I don't, like, want to see the people, and the place itself was kinda meh, I guess, but I liked it there well enough. People are douchebags down there, so if I was ever gonna spend _money_ on a trip, I wouldn't go there, but. I dunno. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. I don't know that I’d go back to Mexico ‘cause I mean we’ve been back once since and it was a little… I dunno. But I think I get where you're coming from.”

You look at his face, _really_ look at it, as much of it as you can see with the shades. Most of the skin you can see has pale freckles all over it, concentrated on the bridge of his nose and, presumably, the tops of his cheeks, although you can’t really see them. He is a seriously pale dude, which doesn’t surprise you, knowing about his albinism. He isn’t pure white, obviously; he just has pale skin with loads of freckles. His hair is really light too, obviously, this color that you almost want to describe as more of a cream -- very light, but not pure white. Just slightly off.

He’s -- actually, sort of beautiful. His hair is thick and shiny, his skin smooth, his lips full.

“I -- think it’s your turn,” you say awkwardly, trying to remove yourself from this train of thought.

“Right,” he says, voice sounding a little funny. “What is your favorite song?”

“Look, I love The Black Parade as much as anyone, but Check Yes Juliet is probably my favorite. I’m a sucker for a love song.”

“Huh,” he says. “Mine’s Stupid Hoe,” he adds casually.

You choke down a laugh. “Seriously?”

“It’s ironic. It’s also technically still your turn, since you didn’t actually _ask_ what my favorite song was.”

“Fuck. This is hard to maintain. I fucking suck at coming up with questions.”

He shrugs. “Do you want to stop?”

“Your nails are probably dry, in any case. I just have to do mine, and since I actually trust myself to function with wet nails, we can go out after this.”

He nods and… doesn’t do anything. As in, you’re still holding his hand.

“Um. I kind of --” Wait, _you’re_ holding _his_ hand. _You_ should move. “Um.”

He looks away but doesn’t move.

“I should --” you say, but don’t finish the sentence or move. Fuck.

Eventually, it’s him that pulls his hand away and you paint your nails the same color he chose. (It clashes with your toes, but you can redo them some other time.) That dries, and he shows you this fucking. God. This fucking Youtube video. It’s just this guy reading off Yahoo Answers misspellings of the word pregnant, but it’s so _fucking funny_ that you have to redo your left pinky completely because you got it on the couch. (Pápi won’t mind, but Kankri will probably throw a fit even though he doesn’t spend any time at all down here.)

You finally get going a few minutes later, swinging your hands with your drying nails as Dave mumbles something you can’t quite hear.

“What are you saying?” you ask after a few seconds of his soft mumble.

“Huh? Nothin’. Just -- nothing.”

Hmm. “Okay.”

Neither of you speaks much until the park comes into view, by which time your nails are at very least safe to touch.

“Fuck yeah, swings!” he shouts, and runs full-on to the swings. You chase him, thankful you put leggings on under this skirt, getting onto the swing next to him. For a couple minutes, there’s nothing but a wild and furious swinging contest, which Dave totally wins. You have no idea how, but he gets so high the chains go loose and the brand new swingset shakes in its foundations. After he suddenly decides he’s had enough and skids to a halt, you skate your feet along the ground and turn to straddle your swing to face him, breathless. He mirrors your pose and grabs the chain on your swing.

“Probably shouldn’t be swinging with a camera on,” he says.

“Probably not,” you agree. He makes no move to put the camera somewhere safe, just grins and probably looks at you. The sun shines on his face, illuminating his hair like a halo. The rims of his shades glimmer.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, reaching into his camera bag, not even breaking your gaze until you see a camera lens instead of the lens of his sunglasses.

“Look at the camera,” he murmurs. “No, don’t smile big like that. There -- perfect.” The shutter clicks -- once, twice, three times -- and he lowers the camera.

His lips are slightly parted in the lingering memory of his earlier grin. You almost wish you could take a picture of him. His camera’s fancy, though; there’s no way you wouldn’t break it. And besides, you don’t know anything about photography. Still, with the evening sunlight, it’s just such a perfect image that you can’t resist pulling out your phone and taking a picture with that. It won’t be half the quality of anything he takes tonight, but it’s something.

When you put your phone down, he has the strangest expression on his face, almost forlorn.

You wish you could know what he was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles evilly* A cliffhanger! Bahahahahaha! Sorry, but I'm not sorry!
> 
> Any and all comments are seriously appreciated! If you notice any mistakes or errors, feel free to let me know, and just tell me how you feel about it!
> 
> I should be back on track to get the next chapter out in a reasonable amount of time, so it shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait for this one.

**Author's Note:**

> SUPER MEGA THANKS for over 150 kudos!!!!! I'm _actually_ squealing, you have no idea.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at fortunatelyunadulterated!


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